This is work not play.

I went to my first therapist visit since Junior year of college, so about 2 years. The buildings all crowded together as I looked for the office, so I ended up having to call her to find the right door. Talking to her, I felt as I had pulled out some kind of photo album of my life and flipped through it for her. I lied about the PST and the speed, but told her about when I was younger and our current battles with cocaine. I figure I'll see what she does with that information before allowing anything else too risky to slip out. She asked me how much I was doing a day, but through her Italian accent I couldn't understand, and so she clairified: "a bump, a line, you know? how much a day?" Shoulders shrugging for emphasis as if the question wasn't already staring me in the face. "A gram...a gram and a half a day...." "When was the last time you used cocaine?" "-----------------------a week or two ago." The words 'this morning' spun in my mind as I felt around for the appropriate expression. Needless to say her original impression of me as "just a baby" because of my birthday became something a bit less wholesome by the end.

Of course, telling her that only doubles my nervousness about having dinner with my parents this weekend. I'm always convinced they're about to call me out and send me somewhere...even though it hasn't happened yet.

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Now that the coke has been done for hours, R is asleep in bed, and I'm trying to get hours done for work, all I can think about is making more pst. Although my goal is to stay awake and do work (popped an addy to help get me through the night), I desperately want to get high.

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The speed is pushing me along nicely, keeping me awake, keeping me from getting up and actually making tea. Also, better not to wake R... Somehow I'm supposed to go to have a physical tomorrow, which should be interesting at the least. All I want to do is make tea and write but I have to ignore those urges and press on (I'm not doing so hot stopping myself from writing)...'


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I know I need to change what I'm doing, it's not that I'm stupid. I don't want to. There are lots of reasons why I feel that way, none of which will make any difference because what I'm doing is simply a fact. When I look in the mirror I can see it smeared across my face and my teeth, pin holes absorbing the face of a junky--not beautiful or intelligent or interesting or ugly or boring or fucked--only a junky. And with that mentality I've thrown my life into this hole as far as I could, but sometimes I wonder if I can still somehow reel it back and push myself on towards something different. Maybe this is not my only calling? But in my soul it still resonates true.

Howling through the window, the subway shoots people off to work and back home from the night shift a few blocks away, it cuts through the semi darkness of our living room. My eyes see trails coming off everything as I stare out, but they only catch glimpses of the roaches scurrying along the baseboards. I wish night never had to end, that the drugs and the pleasure and our hiding places never had to be undone; that the requirements of the day time never took effect.

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Lucy

Sunday Morning

Lou Reed is dead. When I close my eyes, I am 17 year old again in the village, the Velvet Underground pressed me on as they hummed in my head phones. I felt completely high on life, higher than I'd ever felt on any drug. The world was beneath me, my converse pulled on by a greater force than gravity as I passed by what was then at least a monument to a time I could only imagine--a time I worshiped as a teenager.

We've got some coke, speed, weed, and some seeds for later. We thought it'd be fitting to pay tribute to him by listening to his songs and getting supremely high. I don't know he was so influential to both R and myself. If you read my old blog, I'm sure you'll have noticed a few posted songs/titles of posts that are Velvet Underground songs. When I was younger, my favorite songs to play on guitar while high were VU songs (i.e. Heroin, Rock n Roll, What Goes On, etc.). It was such a staple, especially when I started using, it felt like it was only appropriate to listen to them.

I saw Lou walking his dog last year as we were walking around the Chelsea art galleries with R and his family for his grandma's birthday. It felt that day as if he had a glowing field around him, we dared not disturb him, but I couldn't help but look on in awe.

"Controlled substances, without the control."

Transportation outside sounds like voices vibrating through the walls. The subway passes louder than the planes overhead, I watch out the window of the cars looking down upon my apartment building. I can see myself on the futon I'm actually sitting on. Nowhere to go, so no subway rides for me.

Tonight I mixed together a classy combo of coke, speed, a tiny bit of poppy tea, some kratom, and a klonopin to fight off my constant sense that the ground is crumbling under me. Weed was smoked, but only a small amount on my part. Sometimes I think that the majority of 'Muricans partakes in weed. Maybe it's because I'm still so young.

Even under everything there is a nawwing desire for more. Jim was right, "someone screams for less, someone screams for more." Then again, my whole theory about "Jealous Twin" is that your jealous twin is the mirror's reflection under the line you're snorting, because they don't get any of those drugs you're inhaling. At the moment I want speeeeed or more pst. Coke is too much of a flirt, I like the ones that stick around. But they're hard to quit. Tonight I'm set on finding some new tricks/treats to add to my repertoire.

Time to make more teaaaaaa...

Pupil check=no difference, but I start to feel it in my stomach--a slight head rush, as I shake-shake-shake the next batch. Cop cars sirens and bullets rain out throughout the game, as R dies on his motorcycle.

2nd batch, and suddenly I feel it race around my head and chest. OH jesus.

3rd batch, seems the best, but maybe it's all of them combining. R and I split only half of what I sometimes do alone, so I'm not too worried about it. I get this batch all to myself. (You don't have to say it, I know I'm tempting fate with a combo like I've taken tonight, but I guess that's what makes fate interesting.(I prefer to think of fate the way the Romans did, your life is a string with certain knots on it--each knot is an experience you must reach, no matter what you do to get to the next)).

Now I'm rambling more than usual, so I'll stop typing for now.

Good morning Friday!
-Lucy

Tea Time

(If you want to follow me on twitter, to get my HighAsBalls ramblings, feel free here)

My eyes burn, but my arthritis no longer hurts and I feel so much more comfortable. So high. I can't imagine how much oxy I'd need to be to prescribed to stop my arthritis from hurting me. It's been so bad the past two nights I've been unable to sleep with out chemical help. I guess that's also the speed we've been taken recently.

It's all to keep me from being depressed out of my skull, wallowing and writhing in my wish for a purpose. That purpose seems to be drugs, and R and the rabbit. Now all I feel is

Sorry, I got my fingers ear deep on a cleaning rampage...still itching, full of thick wax. They're still doing that weird draining thing inside and out. I think it's because I have a deep set infection in them, or because of the black mold on the ceiling of our bath(tub)ceiling.

Midnight is curled up under the sofa...nowait, now he's on his deck outside his cage--perfect place for a bath? Middnight wholeheartedly agrees.
Commotion in the hallway, and he pauses, but then back to bathing.
I listen, but then all we hear is running water, and I feel like I should piss. When I close my eyes I get those chills of goodness-god-holy-sizzle of opiates from my crotch to my head, and I am so happy, I think I should make a tiny bit more tea....

nonono, Idk, I have made it but I'm not sure if I should drink it. My stomach shoots with pain ever few moments, and I wonder what's happening in there. KnockKnock, are you okay there behind my navel?? Fuck, I need to go see a real doctor, my body is in poor shape, but I know they'll know about what I'm doing maybe.... I mean, my parents still don't talk about my teenage drug problem, so now that I'm 22 I don't think they could find out unless I authorized it. Sometimes I wonder if they've picked up and are waiting to spring. But their absence of springing makes that seem unlikely. I don't know how they would let it go on for so long if they knew, and cared, so I guess either they have shite for brains, or don't care. And I don't seem to want to stop, I just trade drug for drug for drug...besides when with my parents (well half the time).

I fulfilled my prophecy I began at 11, when I realized all I wanted to be was a junky. That was definitely not the aim of D.A.R.E., but heroin became a fascination for me. Junkies. Iggy Pop and Trainspotting spun round until I found those glorious pills dolled out in huge quantities before everyone and their daughter started popping them.

Anyway, sleep times.
Good night and sweet dreams!
-Lucy

Tea Time and Kratom too

It's really strange this show "Elementary." I think it's mostly because of how large an impact Trainspotting had on my teenage experience, especially because I watched it on the nod dozens of times (it was chosen after a while because whenever I'd come to I knew exactly what was happening). Is it my head or my lungs that feels as if it could jump out of my chest, rise up and fly away? The joy falls back down and runs over my head.

The rabbit is watching me from his cage--annoyed that I'm up and he's not allowed to run around. He's lately been pissing on the futon whenever he is allowed out at night. At least when he poops it's not such a big deal, since they're tiny and dry (easy to brush off of any surface and vacuumed up). But his pee reeks now that he is all grown up. Today I introduced him to the taste of apples, which he greatly enjoyed. The sound of him biting down, was so cute, a tiny little bunny making such a loud crunch, his chin dripping with juice. He is hard to be mad at, that's for sure, but I'm trying to restrain myself from letting him out at this hour (which is the ONLY time he pees on it) and ruining our futon more.

I went to the psychiatrist today, who has reminded me that I need to find a more fulfilling job to help me figure out my future career... I'm not sure what I should do, but I'm thinking of applying to intern at some publishing house or magazine or other literary house. I enjoy writing, I am a lot better when I'm not totally stoned out, and I think with a lot more reading and practice I might be able to pull out a job in it.


.............................................................................................oh where was I? I don't know, life is so crazy, but right now it feels so simple, with the TV on and the rabbit winding down for night, myself lounging on the sofa, R is already asleep becuase he has to wake up in 6 hours. I think I'll stay up, maybe watch Craigy Ferguson like I used to in high school--so high and happy.

Tonight the darkness feels like a warm blanket wrapped around me. The City and all the strangers and their noise are silent finally, perhaps they've all nodded out already. I guess I'll join them.

Good night for now,
- Lucy

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Awake again. Sweaty and sticky from my few moments trying to sleep in bed, but instead waking up R to fuck and finally going back to watching TV after finishing. My longest friend (I've known her since elementary school) is on skype, so we shoot the shit about our days. Nothing new, but it is comforting. We've talked on AIM/Skype an a semi daily basis for most of our school and college years. Now that she lives in MN, and I'm in NY, it keeps us close...
....at the moment I'm ranting about the dangers of microwaves.

Nat Geo is blathering on about people abusing pills. I stumble on it blindly and smile. I wish I was as stocked as I was at 16, those were the days. Long Island caught on a few years after I did to the point now that ODs, car crashes, and rehab is almost always centering around pills/heroin. Our friend just got out of detox for a week. His parents sent him away or he would not be allowed to live there. A few days ago he called after we had finished dinner. R's on the phone for only a few minutes, sounding positive and upbeat, I watch him pace the floor. I guess I'm the negative one always, so I'm challenging him about how it makes sense that Jake would ask him to help him stay sober. R didn't have an answer besides saying that he is the only one who could talk Jake off the ledge when it comes down to it. I know that's true, but it seems silly. If anyone goes to rehab, and does it, then they should be fucking serious otherwise it's a waste of time... not that I can judge, but I've never gone to rehab and I've only quit because lack of suppppppplly.
Wait.
What?
Too stoned to make sense.

Sometimes I feel bad waatching the people around me get clean, but I know they're all going to be coming back right down like me because we've seen them all do it now hundreds of times, sometimes with different names and faces, but it's all the same.

A junkie is a junky is a junkee right?

https://twitter.com/LucyBookit <-------follow my twitter if you'd like.

Getting high...... (or why I get high)

I'm about to tear up watching Dr. Phil. It feels more pathetic than it sounds. All these people talking about getting molested as kids, and I keep thinking about when it happened to me. I wasn't a child anymore, but I had been just as vulnerable. My grandfather had died only months before it happened, and I was still reeling from that at the time when it happened. But I didn't really make the connection until years later when I reflected on the first time I popped pills.

Now, I pop handfuls of kratom, such inoncuous herbal capsules. They relieve my arthritis pain, which is joyous, and then they make me feel okay. Okay that I'm doing unimportant work, that I'm stagnating today having slept 12 hours, that I feel depressed and hopeless most of the time.

I feel like I'm spinning out daily because I'm doing nothing. Especially now that at 22, I'm the most experienced junkie within the friends that I keep, which always leads to my scoffing at their baby habits. "oh you were doing grams of Molly, hahahaa, but have you ever even shot up? Been in the hospital? Have you ever had to bold face lie to your parents when you were the only suspect? Riggle out of the clutches of well-meaning therapists? Lied to your friends so that they wouldn't drop you?" I admit it's a little cruel, but I shut up when my respect is due to some of my more experienced friends and don't pretend to know what they've been through.

I'm all discombobulated right now, so maybe I'll write more later when I'm a bit less sleepy and more coherent.

Hope you are all doing well!
- Lucy